Dreilide
by CrawleyHouse
Summary: Laura visits the Opera House. Just a short little one-shot of life before the Fall


_Just a short little one-shot of life before the Fall._

Laura closed her eyes against the hard hammer strikes of the keys. The notes reverberating through the Opera House, cyclical, heaving, rolling over her like waves.

"Discordant, isn't it?" a voice whispered so close to the shell of her ear that she shivered. She should have flinched, recoiled even.

"No." she breathed, her head moving in the barest inclination of protest. Eyes closed. Unwilling to relinquish the ebbing sensation that coursed through her limbs, vibed in her chest. As if it pulsed through her blood.

"… maybe at first," she admitted, leaning in closer to the discarnate voice beside her, "when you are fighting to find a rhythm… but if you just-"

"Surrender..?" he murmured.

"Let it sweep you away." She opened her eyes to glance at the man through the darkness. The hard piano beat against her ear drums, raising her heartbeat in time.

"Wash over you." He had leant in so close to her she could feel his breath on her bare neck, the line of his jaw, the blonde of his hair all that she could make out in his proximity.

She closed her eyes again.

His voice was young… at least younger than hers. But when had that ever stopped her before, she thought, a smirk tugging the corner of her mouth, creasing her cheek.

"I'm Laura." She whispered, leaning in to him again.

"Ben." He offered.

_Ben_. She hummed deep in her throat and let the music gather her up again, reveling in the assonance.

When the lights eased back to illuminate the walls gold once more, she peered through hooded eyes to better look at her companion. Tongue flicking nervously against her lips. But the seat beside her was empty. Not even a curled program to indicate anyone had been there at all.

She touched at her hair in a would be steadying movement, her chest flushing in what might have been embarrassment if she paused to think about it. But smoothed it down with the lines of her dress as she made to leave with everyone else.

She had taken her coat, half-way through thanking the attendant when the voice called out behind her.

"Laura?"

She smirked, she'd know that voice anywhere. It took less than a second to arrange her features.

She turned to face him.

"Mr President." She greeted, smiling her best diplomatic smile. Only slightly surprised to see a woman on his arm.

She was very beautiful.

Presidential wives often were.

Richard Adar was a tall, commanding man. A little arrogant, the way handsome and powerful men were. Completely magnetic.

"My wife, Mary." He introduced with all his usual charm, gaze lingering on the cut of her own dress.

Laura shuffled the coat to her left arm, reaching out with her right to grasp the slender hand of Mary Adar.

"This is Secretary Roslin, from the Department of Education."

"A pleasure to meet you." The woman's voice was soft and cool, her smile as easy and practiced as her own, but her gaze searched her face for something she wasn't sure was there. The familiarity with which her husband had called her name across the auditorium. Lingering on the red of her hair.

Laura hummed self-consciously.

"No, no. The pleasure is mine." Sincerity came easily with the happy lilt in her cadence.

She tucked her hand back under her coat.

"Here with friends?"

Laura shook her head, careful not to dislodge the pins keeping her hair at bay.

"You should join us next time," he continued, "the view is… _unrivalled_."

"I like the energy of the crowd."

She deflected him easily,

"But thank you, Mr President."

He considered her for perhaps a moment too long. Eyes flicking across her face, along the lines of her neck.

"I'd like to meet with you on Zeusday."

Like most of his orders, it carried the illusion of a request.

"I'll have my people call your people." She acquiesced with a perfectly tempered smile.

He smiled a tight, little smile.

"Goodnight, Laura."

Mary Adar gripped her husband's arm a little tighter.

"Goodnight, Mr President… Madame First Lady."

Laura watched them leave with more than gentle unease coiled in her stomach.

"Gods damn it." She hissed and pulled on her coat against the crisp wind of early winter. Sufficiently muffling the red of her dress.


End file.
